


Loose Cannons

by o0katiekins0o



Category: Archer (Cartoon), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Binge Drinking, F/M, Gen, Mild Sexual Content, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-11-09 06:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11098788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0katiekins0o/pseuds/o0katiekins0o
Summary: Sherlock/Archer crossoverSterling Archer and Sherlock Holmes have always been unwitting rivals in a petty competition between their mothers.Decades of dysfunction unwind during an unexpected visit from the Archers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So Sunken_Standard convinced me to post this after we had a fun headcanon-fest over the idea of an Archer/Sherlock crossover. I've been sitting on it for a while but I think it's finally ready to see the light of day.

"Hey it's my buddy, Will! Big Willie Style! Whaaaaaassssuuup!? Heh, like the commercial... Hey, tell me honestly. Do you have a spotted dick?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Glancing around at all the armed men of the cartel he'd managed to infiltrate. He shouldn't have even had his phone on, or have a phone, while working an assignment this deep but his boss, Malory Archer, had insisted he have it in the event he needed to call for an extraction. Ironic that it's blown his cover now. How did Duchess even get this number?

Everything was fine, Sherlock cleared his throat and tried not to sound nervous. "I'm sort of in the middle of something here, Sterling." He spoke through gritted teeth.

"Are you still in Florida, man? Watch out for the gators! Seriously, they're everywhere!" Sherlock could here the noises of a crowd and clinking, Sterling's own slurred speech was also a giveaway, but really, when wasn't that man drunk?

"Yeah, I'll bear that in mind. Look, I've got to go..."

"No wait. This will only take a second. Tell these girls how we are totally bad ass ISIS agents!" Sherlock hung up the phone but not before the men overheard, surrounding him and cocking their rifles.

Fuck! Somehow deep down he always knew it would end this way.

 

* * *

 

 

"After that I swore I'd never work for an agency again. Especially _that_ agency." Sherlock explained to Molly whose eyes were as wide as saucers and mouth agape. 

"And then what?" She asked after an extraordinarily confounding moment. 

"'And then what'- _what?_ "

"You can't just end a story like that! How are you alive!?"

"I told you, I knew he would most likely be responsible if ever my cover was blown. I made... arrangements."

"Firstly, no you did not say that. And secondly, what kind of arrangements? What did you do?!" Sometimes having a conversation with Sherlock felt a bit like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. Or trying to put two different jigsaw puzzles together.

"Ah right, well. I had someone on the inside." He smirked gesturing toward the door of his flat.

"Woo hoo!" Mrs. Hudson called as she nudged through the front door carrying a tray of tea and scones. "What have you two been chatting about?" She asked when curiosity over Molly's gawping face gave way to questions. 

"I was just telling Molly how we met." He smiled boyishly as Martha crossed in front of him, pausing to pat the top of his head affectionately before beginning her obsessive straightening around his flat.

"I hope you're not boring her ears off with that old story." She said with dissmissive nonchalance, waving a tea towel at her tenant's direction.

"Boring?! You saved him from being blown to swiss cheese by a drug cartel!"

"Oh it was barely anything. Honestly, it's Frank's fault for having that idiotic fish tank anyway, always hated the thing..."

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock's hands are up, and so was the jig. The only hope he had left was that Martha would come in at the clutch. And right on cue-

SMASH! The sound of glass breaking was immediately overpowered by the loud rush of water as the enormous floor to ceiling fish tank emptied, flooding the relatively small basement with water.

In almost an instant they were waist deep in water.

"It really was an impractically sized fish tank, Frank meant to fill it with sharks or piranha, or something. You know, to be intimidating. But it just sat there full of water for months. And who puts a fish tank in a basement? We had such a damp problem as it was!", Mrs. Hudson annotated as Sherlock spoke.

The force of the rushing water had pushed them to their knees, weapons submerging completely, and hopefully flooding the cock-mechanism and drowning the casings. They could each still fire one round but the next would not cycle properly from the water in the chamber.

It bought him time. He cleared the steps toward the exit while the cartel thugs still struggled to rally from the shock of the tank breaking. They barely noticed the new guy running off with the boss's old lady.

Navigating through the enormous home without getting caught was trickier. However Martha had his back, or rather he had hers as she guided him through corridors toward the back of the house where a helicopter awaited him, they were both handed in by an agent in a ski mask before the pilot lifted away.

The world got smaller as they escalated, a small band of ants gathered to fire after the chopper but with no success.

Exhaling deeply, he took a moment to acknowledge his rescuers. "Agent Kane. Agent Gillette. Thanks for the ride."

The agent that handed them in pulled off her mask "I'm sorry, Will."

"You both got here quickly." Sherlock side-stepped Lana's apology. Eyeing her with suspicion. "You're stalking him again."

"Ha! Boom!" The pilot shouted.

"Shut up, Ray! And no. I was NOT stalking him, for your information I have never stalked him... Ray and I were just having a girl's night and we happened to be at the same club right when Archer blew your cover with those skanks!" her voice turned angry.

"Yes we just happened to be there right when he blew your cover. And three hours before that, while we were stalking Archer." Ray added, glancing back from the pilot's seat. 

"If you thought I was just stalking Archer, why did you come out with me?" Lana sniped back.

Ray sighed. "Are you kidding? And miss out on the sick ass freakshow you and Archer call a relationship?" The mustachioed blonde barked out a laugh and then added in his lisping Southern drawl. "No way, honey."

For once he couldn't find it in him to judge Lana for her unhealthy attachment to Sterling since it had somehow saved his hide this time.

The Lana-Sterling equation simply did not balance for Sherlock. Lana Kane is objectively beautiful (tall, curvy, wide-eyed, child of Berkley scholars, and a damn fine spy) and Sterling was a drunken mess with massive mummy issues.

Sherlock may have been a junkie mess with, arguably, equal issues but at least he wasn't wasting the time and breaking the heart of such a worthy and capable person. 

"Lana, thank you. But you were definitely stalking him." Sherlock quipped.

"Don't test me, Holmes. There's nothing stopping me from throwing you off this thing." She snapped, crossing her arms. 

"Yeah and with those big old truckasaurus hands she could do it, too." 

"Shut up, Ray!"

 

* * *

 

 

It was rare, but Sherlock would occasionally share stories with Molly about his brief and hilarious turn as a spy for the bumbling agency. His stories played in her mind like a cartoon, the way he described the colorful cast of larger than life characters. 

Imagine her surprise when she later discovered they lived up to the image in the flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVyMiYYyiWs


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet and Malory are in frenemy territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVyMiYYyiWs
> 
> Special thanks once again to Sunken_Standard who lets me bounce my lame jokes off of her. You rule, thanks, kitten. 
> 
> Thanks everyone who read/commented/left kudos y'all are the real MVPs.

The thing with Sterling was that Sherlock had never disliked him, even when he got the sense that he ought to. At times he'd found him irksome and rude (even by his standards), other times tiresome and persistent but usually onto a strong inclination that lead in the right direction 9 times out of 10. When it came right down to it, Sterling Archer was a highly skilled and deadly agent, if a little messy. 

The issue was in Sherlock's understanding that he'd already cornered the unstable but highly effective market. Alas no, there was always Sterling, behind him like a mirror, matching him as they ticked box after box off the to-do list for the family fuck up. Despite, or perhaps rather in spite of, each of their mothers' interference and encouragement the two were determined twins in self destruction.

The American colloquial term was "play cousins" not related, but growing up alongside each other as though they were. Not friendly out of genuine connection so much as proximity. It was their mothers who were... friends, broadly speaking. 

They _were_ friends... in the loosest and most malicious sense of the word. But in a truer sense, they were competitors in a game that long predated both boys, Sterling and Sherlock were merely pieces on the board. 

 

* * *

 

 

It was all bright smiles and open arms when the two happened upon each other at Sherlock's first day at his new boarding school. He's eight and his riotous curls are allowed to grow past his ears, he's towing his trunk behind him as they approach the looming building, darting through a lawn littered with various family and staff. 

His mother is giving the compulsory baby bird leaving the nest speech (reminding him to change his pants and eat fresh veg) when she's interrupted by a familiar high pitched voice shrieking out in a distinctly American accent, "Violet? Is that you!?" 

Mummy stops, freezes for an instant with a look of pure horror before composing herself with a quick breath, battle stations. "Malory Archer!" Her face splits in an unnaturally wide smile, as she straightens her spine into an iron rod. 

Malory Archer is an incredibly fit woman in her late 30's sporting a cashmere Chanel skirt set while stylishly whipping off her wide framed designer sunglasses. American and clearly moneyed, her son, however, remains one of the most miserable children he thinks he's ever seen. His hair is parted in the middle, slicked down and wearing a bow tie obviously forced upon him. Sherlock finds his equal in despondency. 

Malory gives his mother an investigative scan, a flick in her brow gave way to a wickedness in her smile. Sherlock would come to be quite familiar with that expression, a cat licking her chops. 

"Why Violet Holmes! Don't you look..." She paused as if the correct word refused to come to her and she finally settled on "comfortable." She gestured vaguely toward Mummy's attire- a sweater set, khakis and her second nicest loafers. "Oh darling I love how you just don't care! It's so refreshing."

Her son, like Sherlock, made no acknowledgement of his mother's back-handed turn of phrase, instead focusing on grinding the toe of his shoes into the gravel beneath them. 

Mummy let the shade in Malory's compliment glance off of her as she blinked, re-affixing her smile and leaning in for the socially mandated hug and matching kisses to each cheek. "Oh thank you! And my goodness look at you! You look _remarkably_ well-rested." placing curious emphasis on the word 

"That's so kind of you to say, I've been so busy lately I feel like I've barely had time to sleep.", Using a tactic the millenials would one day term 'the humblebrag', Malory dangled her career success in mummy's face wrapped in a mild complaint.

Mummy only smiled in return and without missing a beat replied, "Well I suppose anesthesia doesn't count."

A long terrifying pause stretched out between them as they were locked in direct eye contact with one another, a standoff. Sherlock readjusted his grip on his trunk's handle as the anxiety of the moment had caused his palms to sweat. 

Another horrifying second ticked by before the silence was broken by their matching laughter. 

"Oh, you bitch." Malory said affectionately. 

"Me? 'Comfortable'? I ought to slap your face off."

"Violet, I would shoot you where you stand." There was a sort of cheery matter of factness to Malory's tone, it was objectively a threat, but she almost made it sound like an invitation in the way she smiled.

Mummy smiled darkly, "I'd like to see you try." 

Again, laughter. This was the most uncomfortable conversation Sherlock had ever been a witness to, what in the actual hell was happening? 

"Well I better be off, after this I have to go and deal with another situation in Tangiers."

Mummy nodded knowingly, "Ooh I don't envy you."

Malory raised a brow, "Yes. You do." Her lips curled in a half smile as she casually whipped her hermes scarf over her shoulder and turned away calling, "Come along, Sterling. Lovely as always to see you, Violet." Sliding the oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses on as she strode away, all cashmere and back-seams.

 

 

* * *

  

They weren't roommates but they shared classes and meal times, and found time for one another now and again. Chums, you might say. Not especially close, but friendly when they crossed paths. Still, Sherlock was not exactly spoiled in the friend department so he was in no position to pass up the closest thing he had. When try-outs for the new Lacrosse team came up, it didn't take much for Sterling to convince him to join.

He wasn't even sure why he agreed, he didn't care for team sport in the least. He only had his mummy's voice in his head _"Promise me you'll try to fit in."_ as he nodded along through the coach's long-winded explanation of a game that was essentially footie with sticks. The next thing he knew a whistle had blown and suddenly he was running with the other lads, throwing and catching a ball in a netted crosse to an apparently satisfactory degree, as his name appeared just above Sterling's on the posted list of who had made the team the following day.

His secret was that he honestly could not have cared less, win lose or draw, he had no stake in the outcome of any of the games. He made an conspicuous effort to play well, but apart from that, he couldn't find it in himself to care if his team went on to victory or humiliating defeat. There must have been some merit to the strategy as the team did win often, despite Sherlock's general apathy. 

His parents came to many of the matches. He wasn't certain why, it wasn't something he would want to waste an evening watching, it must be one of those social mandates. Still, it was nice to know that his efforts to fit in were being recognized. He had gone to quite a bit of bother, after all. 

Malory never came to any of the matches. Though he completely understood why she wouldn't, when he saw the way Sterling always scanned the stands with a hopeful expression, Sherlock considered that perhaps it wouldn't hurt to waste an evening watching. Especially if your son really wanted you to. 

Sherlock considered his family sitting on the cold wooden bleachers settling in to watch him play a game he could care less about. He was merely performing a charade of normalcy to appease his family.

But Sterling... Sterling actually cared. He gave everything at every game, even the ones that didn't really matter and well, Sherlock supposed that deserved some recognition.

Malory had come to one match, technically. She stumbled in during the final half and poured herself in the stands beside his mother, who immediately took on a defensive posture until being surreptitiously offered a flask. 

Ignoring what happened next Sherlock was drawn back into the task at hand, namely picking apart the weak points of the opposing team's defense. This next shot could win it for them, if properly executed. Otherwise they were looking at a minimum of six more minutes of play to secure their defeat and he just wanted to get this over with. He set it up, and Sterling made the shot that ultimately won the day.

The team lifted Sterling on their shoulders in celebration and chanted his name but when they both looked out into the stands Malory was not watching her son in his moment of victory. Instead she was looking at mummy, whose face had already gone red from drink next to his father who looked like he was trapped in a car on fire. 

Somewhere in the rabble along the sidelines Reginald Woodhouse, Sterling's guardian and butler, raised his feeble arms and cheered but was swallowed up by the crowd before a discernible sound could escape. 

Afterward, in the locker room, the two of them were alone together for a moment. Sherlock thought that perhaps he should say something... comforting? He wasn't sure what to say, or even why he thought that. But even he could see that what had happened out there was pathetic. 

Sterling was hunched, gave a single sniff and wiped his nose against the sweatband on his wrist and opened his mouth to say something but the moment was interrupted by loud banging against the door and Malory Archer's slurred speech shouting "Put 'em away, boys! Momma's comin' in."

Sterling silently plead for mercy when they all heard her add upon reproach, "Oh, don't play dumb, Siger, you should know better than anyone that there's more ass grabbing going on in these places than a..." A beat and the sound of swallowing as though she'd paused mid-sentence to drink. "... Tijuana donkey show!" the door handle rattled as she struggled with it, mummy's drunken giggles tittered in the background. 

Sherlock opened the door and the two of them filed out into the corridor beyond looking sheepishly at their mothers who were still giggling between each other.

"Hello boys! Excellent game!" Siger cleared his throat as if to remind his wife and their friend that they were actually outside the locker room of their childrens' expensive boarding school, not a darts competition in some backwood public house. 

When the two finally straightened up Mummy commended Sterling on his victory shot, earning cut eyes from Malory when the boy eagerly thanked her.

"Yes well, you weren't much help out there were you?" Malory zeroed in on Sherlock her gaze holding his as if to tell him she knew, even if she came at the end of the game and barely watched. Somehow she saw that being on the team was an act, one she didn't buy for a second. In lieu of forcing him to respond, she instead addressed his father,  "Siger, it doesn't seem your influence is showing any improvement on your boy's athletic abilities." Her voice was soft, as though she was concerned. "So much for a father's role, maybe Violet needs to show the boy how it's done."

"Many aspects of athleticism are hereditary." Mummy responded coolly, "Sterling must have gotten his from his father... whoever that may be." 

His own father froze, looking as uncomfortable as the two young boys felt in that moment, there was another deathly long pause as they squared off, each staring at the other with dangerous eyes. 

As with before, after the beat passed the two laughed, sharing an embrace and veiled threats, promising to call before parting. 

 

* * *

 

Those were far from isolated incidents.:

Christmas party 1986- Mummy and Malory find out they'd been lagers in the shed, laugh when both boys become sick from drinking and then squabble over whose son held his liquor better. The argument ends in Mallory "accidentally" throwing a steuben glass half-full with egg nog at the wall. 

Sherlock's sixteenth birthday- Mummy gives a dreadfully embellished toast about his "accomplishments" to which Malory implied had more to do with his ongoing virginity than his drive to succeed. His mother's response was to applaud in Malory's direction, to remind her that there was another definition of the word "clap", just in case Sterling's ongoing misdeeds had made her forget. 

At Sherlock's graduation Mummy conspicuously inquired about the progress of Sterling's abandoned MBA. Malory's counter-attack was to hand Sherlock her card and a job offer.

Every milestone, every moment that should have been for him, had been ruined by their matriarchal pissing contest. So what happened when he finally brought Molly round for tea to meet his parents should not have come as a surprise...

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVyMiYYyiWs
> 
> I really hope these characterizations are coming through as authentic. I have an outline for this story and a good idea of where I want it to ultimately go. Most prepared I've been for a fic since... ever. Anyway! Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more hijinks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened at tea...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thanks to Sunken_Standard who did a big rewatch of Archer and had tons of helpful notes!

Years of pining, months of planning, weeks of legwork and days of waiting culminated in this moment, handing Molly out of the Jaguar he "borrowed" from Mycroft, they approached the door to his childhood home together with his hand pressed to the small of her back. Today she would officially meet his parents- not as a friend visiting him in hospital or a colleague whose work he cites on his blog, but as a partner. His partner. His _romantic_ partner... yeah even in his own head it sounded surreal. 

The hand at her back came up to her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze as they looked at each other with matching anxious smiles. "Don't be nervous." He said aloud not sure if he meant it for her, or himself.  

She nodded, squaring her shoulders and facing the door as Sherlock leaned forward to rap on the knocker. 

There was a long moment before any movement toward the could be heard on the other side. It was his dad who came to the door, a sort of weary surrender in his face.

"Oh my boy, thank God!" He muttered glancing to either side of him. "Get me the hell out of here." he whispered, deciding it was safe to speak. 

Neither of them even had enough time to so much as utter "what?" before his mother could be heard calling from behind him.

"Siger, Darling, Who's at the door?" Sherlock saw his father sag in defeat at the sound of his mother's voice. A stoic look overtook his demeanor as he stood tall and with eyes that almost plead 'forgive me', Siger announced their arrival. 

"It's Sherlock and that cadaver girl!" Siger called back. 

"Ahh!" He heard mummy chime merrily, approaching the door to herd them inside. "Wonderful! Wonderful! Come in." She rushed to herd them inside, Sherlock didn't miss it when she peaked her head outside to check who'd noticed their arrival before shutting and bolting the door. 

"Did you not tell your mother we were coming?" Molly asked, managing to sound harsh and accusatory sotto voce. 

"I did." He muttered in weak defense. He had! But of course she didn't believe him, that was his own fault really. It was rather his habit to drop in on people unannounced. He didn't have time to convey the seriousness of his conviction that he had indeed informed his mother they would be coming today as the failed recipient was behind them, pushing them toward the kitchen.

"Forgive me dear, you're early." Mummy said conspicuously, turning away to put the kettle on then remembering herself and addressing Molly, "Lovely to see you, ehm... Sorry. What was your name again, dear."

They weren't early, that should have been a red flag, or rather, a second red flag when he accounted for his father's reaction to seeing them. 

"Dad. Mummy." He addressed each of his parents this is Doctor Molly Hooper, She's the director of histopathology at Barts-"

"I recall." His mother answered dismissively, sizing her up with a sceptical glance. "Molly, please forgive me if I seem reticent, last time my son brought a friend home, it was a tramp he colluded with to drug us all. Now he's come calling with someone who performs post-mortems, naturally I'm a bit concerned."

Molly laughed nervously. "Oh no, it's nothing like that. Actually we're-"

"That's a relief. Listen dear, there's something I need to tell you-" His mother interrupted she speaking calmly to Sherlock, her hands up in a placating gesture. Clearly preparing him for surprising news. His father was behind her with his arms crossed over his chest and sighing.

Before she could finish another person entered clutching a toddler and chatting hurriedly in an American accent, "Sorry guys, it's time for AJ's snack and Mallory gets so weird when she sees her eating and I'd just rather- Oh. My. God! Will!?" 

 

* * *

 

 

Molly had no idea what was going on. She had come to meet her boyfriend's parents (yeah, still weird) and was suddenly caught up in some kind of reunion when an, intimidatingly beautiful, African American woman in a skin tight sweater dress appeared in his mother's kitchen, seemingly at random, and began pulling Sherlock into an awkward side hug with a little girl about Rosie's age perched on her hip. And did she just call him Will?

"Hello... Lana?" Sherlock greeted, confusion telegraphing on his brow.

"Lana's here! Surprise! And she has a baby now! Isn't that lovely? " Sherlock's mother announced belatedly, attempting to infuse excitement in her voice and, by extension, this situation, her face falling into an apologetic grimace when a voice followed behind Lana's. 

The adage remained true. Where there's smoke, there's fire. And so it follows that where there's Lana Kane, surely enough, somewhere nearby is Malory Archer waving a glass in someone's face and demanding something.

"My God is there no ice in this entire godforsaken country?" She shouts, pushing her way into the kitchen waving a half-full low ball of whiskey as if to demonstrate it's woeful lack of ice. Then finally taking notice of the presence of new arrivals she squealed, "Oh! William!" She gasped aloud pulling him into an unwanted hug, judging by his wince. "Have you gotten taller?"

"Malory." He greeted, patting her on the shoulder with a sort of awkward hesitance. "A centimetre and a half shorter actually, the incident in Yugoslavia compressed my spine." His counter was pointed. There was a sharpness to his voice, an accusation. Lana, Siger, and Violet shared a meaningful glances as a moment of distressing silence fell over them all.

Suddenly it clicked for Molly, this Malory was the same Malory from Sherlock's stories- The head of the agency he'd quit all those years ago. He must be alluding to the aftermath of one of their many botched missions. 

"Too bad they didn't compress your whining." The sleek older woman said before taking another well-timed sip of her drink, making a noise of irritation at the beverage's utter refusal to randomly manifest ice. 

There was a snort and giggle from his mother. 

Sherlock took a beat, blinking rapidly and shaking his head, "Lana, a word?" 

With an apologetic look she nodded, adjusting her baby higher on her hip and lead him toward a corridor outside the kitchen. Molly followed behind in confusion. She hadn't the first idea what the actual fuck was going on, but she knew for a fact she didn't want to be caught alone in the room with those two women; Who for their part, were still giggling among themselves as the three of them disappeared. 

"I'm so sorry, Will-" Lana started.

"Just tell me why you're all here, Lana. And for God's sake call me Sherlock." 

"Right, Sherlock. Sorry. Hi, I'm Lana." Finally addressing Molly. 

"Molly. Hi." She answered with a tiny wave. She would have offered her hand to shake but the child in her arms was chewing on a banana and had already made a bit of a mess on the front of her creeper and the bodice of her mother's dress. 

"We just got into a tiny little scrape in Wales and needed to lie low for a few days. Your mother's is our closest safehouse."

"My mother's private residence is registered as a _safehouse_?"

"Just for Isis operations, or rather The... ugh... _Figgis_ Agency operations now."

"Figgis as in...?" 

"Cyril, yes. It's a long story, but basically ISIS headquarters exploded and we went broke, so we dealt coke for a bit, then did some work for the CIA until we accidentally killed a scientist. So we started this new agency and... no wait. That's all. I guess it's not that long of a story... Anyway, here we are!"

To Molly's way of thinking, that story begged more questions than it answered but Sherlock seemed to follow so she just shrugged internally and went along with it. Sure, their place of work exploded and they resorted to trafficking in street drugs. Always hate when that happens.

"Sorry, I'm still stuck on the part where my mother's _private_ home is a registered safehouse for the circus you all call an agency. Is my brother aware of this?"

"Wow, first of all don't be all shitty with me because _you_ couldn't hack it in the field-"

Sherlock made a sound as though to interject but she cut him off.

"AND secondly! Yeah, of course Antarctica knows everything. He doesn't do anything about it because... have _you_ ever tried saying no to your mother? Anyway, _Sherlock_ I don't feel like I should justify why I'd rather be an imposition on your parents than leave AJ an orphan because I got executed in frickin Wales, okay?!"

She had him there, he pursed his lips in defeat. "Fine."

Baby AJ garbled around a mouthful of banana causing Sherlock to crack a slight smile. Molly didn't know this Lana person, but she was already beginning to like her. She seemed to know Sherlock well enough to take him down a peg or two.

Lana sighed. "Listen... I know what it's like when the two of them are together, okay? Just don't react. You know it only keeps them going."

Molly got the strange sense that Lana was talking the Sherlock like a mother talks to a schoolchild about bullies. This image was reinforced by the maternal pat on the shoulder she gave him as he nodded. 

"Now let's go get some tea, or whatever the shit you people drink now, to avoid having an actual conversation with your crazy mother."

"It's still tea." Molly reassured with a smile, following Sherlock back into the kitchen. 

"Of course it is."

Once back inside the kitchen, Sherlock storms the two women cackling over vulgar jokes and refilling their glasses. In direct opposition to Lana's advice to keep his head down and smile.

"Mummy, you're using your private home as a safehouse? " When his big reveal made no impact he appealed to his father. "And you're just letting this happen?" 

The laughter between them died and his mother looked at him as though he was standing on ice made very thin by her fiery stare. _'Tread carefully_ ' Molly wanted to caution but he was beyond her help now. All she could do was watch and cringe. 

"Oh my boy, let me make one thing perfectly clear. This is my house, and I'll not be told what to do with, or in, it by anyone. Especially not someone whose arse I've wiped, understand? Now sit down and have a biscuit, there's a good lad."

He looked back where she and Lana were standing beside each other. 

_Told you._ She saw Lana mouth when the two women immediately loudly returned the conversation they'd been having before, with obvious lack of regard for the misgivings Sherlock voiced earlier. 

"Sherlock has told me so much about you both." Molly reached out, experimentally. Anything was better than this dreadful silence. 

"Damnable lies, I'm sure." Malory replied through a guffaw. 

"What could possibly be more damnable than the truth, Ms. Archer?" Sherlock jumped in, he was in a masochistic mood apparently. 

"You want to know a damnable truth, your little beard there would be more convincing if she had any discernible breasts."

The room gasped. 

Molly looked to Sherlock who lowered his head to hide his simmering rage. Molly could feel his fists clench and unclench beneath the work top. 

"Wow, Malory." Lana admonished. 

"Oh what?! It's nothing a couple of bags of saline can't fix." she volleyed.

"And who would know better than you?" Violet snapped back. 

Say what you will about Malory's brashness, Violet's shade was legendary. Their conversation began to devolve into petty bickering as they both traded barb after barb. It seemed no topic was off limits, from body weight to sexual history as they verbally ripped one another apart, unconcerned with their audience or how uncomfortable they were making everyone. 

In the midst of it all a new figure crept in. A handsome man with sleek, black hair and the chiseled jaw of a movie star laden with carrier bags. His gaze bounced to Violet and Malory snapping and snarling at each other like a pair of she-wolves then to her and Sherlock at the breakfast bar. Realization was clear on his face the moment he and Sherlock clapped eyes. 

"Shit, this is starting already?" He asked dumping his cargo on the worktop. "Hey man." he greeted Sherlock, a weariness to his voice. Sherlock acknowledged him with a nod. 

Sterling joined Lana at her side, taking the small girl from her arms when she leaned toward him with her pudgy fingers making grabby motions toward him. 

"Hey AJ, did you miss daddy? Ah what the shit is this?" Clearly he'd discovered the cache of banana goo plastered to her onesie. He held her away sniffing the substance before giving an experimental taste, making Molly cringe. 

"Banana?"

"She was having a snack." Lana murmured in answer. 

The precaution of keeping her tone low was a wasted effort. Even at the height of their mudslinging Malory overheard. 

"She's eating AGAIN?! Forget graduation, at this rate I'll be buying her liposuction for her sweet sixteen."

 This massively inappropriate statement made about a baby was met with eyerolls from everyone but Molly. Who, for her part, was unable to do anything but telegraph her naked appall.

 

***

The sight of Molly's gaping, judgmental expression phased Malory not at all as she lobbed out, "Oh what do you know? With those hips, you're probably barren."

That must have been the final straw for Sherlock, he slammed both his fists on the tabletop and rose to his feet. 

"Every time. Every time." Was the mantra he spoke to stoke his rage, his face reddening and the veins of his neck and forehead began to make an appearance. "Every time there is a moment, just one moment that is supposed to be for me, it's ruined by the two of YOU!" He pointed an accusatory finger in the direction of the two women, and his father by proxy. The man hadn't gone down to their level of constant verbal abuse and manipulation but he'd certainly sat there and let it happen plenty enough. 

"Ah another Sherlock temper tantrum, right on schedule." His mother dismissed. "So ungrateful. After all we've done for you."

"Done for me? Mummy, you've used me as an objective in your sick little competition my entire life. And Malory, YOU were the single worst spymaster I've ever worked for and I say that as someone who regularly does work for Mycroft! I came here today because I have a girlfriend and I wanted you to meet her properly there she is. That's Molly, say hi Molly."

Bewildered and flushing she raised her small hand and mouthed "hi". 

The tone took an immediate shift. With a collective whooping shout, everyone suddenly began to close in around them to offer their congratulations. Even Malory turned on a dime, coming toward them with open arms.

He wasn't sure why. But that was it. It had always been the way of things. The status returned to quo at a breakneck pace and they all went on pretending they were a normal, happy family that wasn't tripping through a minefield of dysfunction.

Something must have switched on (or switched off) in his mind, in that moment he felt and thought of nothing but his immense rage. Years of it, decades. Building and building only to pour out in this moment. 

"No! No! Fuck this! And fuck all of you! I swear to Christ you people are the goddamned worst!"

His proclamation was met by silence by all but Sterling, who was laughing hysterically. 

A final look around the room at everyone somehow cemented the decision for him, he turned heel and walked directly out of the house. He'd only made it to the walk outside when he heard Sterling behind him shouting. "Wait up, man!"

He held one of the carrier bags aloft as he chased behind him. 

 

***

 

"Well I hope you're all proud of yourselves." Lana admonished the three elders. "Happy now?"

"No." Malory replied in a pathetic whimper. After a beat and a brief sob she cried, "Sterling took the bag that had the ice in it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVyMiYYyiWs
> 
> Hope you all liked this chapter! Strongly recommend visiting the link above!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It struck Molly as oddly sophomoric, like something out of an American High School drama. She half expected one of them to angstily remark how they couldn’t wait to graduate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who likes/kudos/comments I know it's a kind of specialized crossover and my audience is a bit narrow so thanks for sticking with me, probably only one or two chapters left to go.

"Hey Will! Wait up, man!" Sterling called, laughter still coloring his voice as he chased along behind him, holding a carrier bag aloft and clearing the distance between them with his long strides.

Sherlock did not pause, he continued to walk across the street toward the forested area beyond. "Will! Will!" Sterling continued to call, following him through tall grass that gave way to a small clearing, finally prompting Sherlock to pause.  "For the love of GOD, my name is SHERLOCK!" His voice was something close to a roar as he shouted out his frustration directly in Sterling's smug face. 

The man only chuckled good humoredly unfazed by his cohort's outburst, "Right. Well whatever your name is, you could use a drink." From within the bag he produced a bottle of single malt scotch, offering it to his childhood friend. He eyed the plastic bag of ice within the brown sack paper and shrugged, tossing it carelessly away and joining Sherlock as he sat on a long flat rock that jutted up from the ground.

"I don't really drink." Sherlock answered, holding out the bottle as if to demonstrate his inability to let the booze near his body, let alone inside it. Sterling laughed again, his usual breathy 'heh heh', "Still haven't gotten over me beating you at that drinking contest."

With a sigh and a shake of his head he answered, "Still haven't gotten over a lot of things." He's looking down at the ground now, both of them grinding the toes of their shoes into it like they had done as kids. However, this time they're both wearing handmade Italian leather as opposed to the blocky brown pairs they were forced to wear at school.

"Got you covered, buddy." Sterling reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a long paper cone. The fattest spliff Sherlock had seen since well... since the last time he'd had one rolled by the man, maybe 15 years ago. It looked to have taken at least two papers simply to contain the sheer amount stuffed inside. 

The detective took no time whatsoever to snatch the spliff from the spy's hand and slipping it between his lips as he patted the outside of his coat to feel for his lighter. It turned out that he needn't have gone to the effort, Sterling was lighting him up before he'd gotten his hand to the bottom of one cavernous coat pocket.  He'd barely inhaled at all before choking out a thick cloud of skunk-scented smoke, eyes reddened and watering instantly. "Jesus!" He wheezed out. 

"Right?" Sterling agreed as he ripped the plastic covering the neck of the bottle, doffing the cap and tossing it somewhere near the sack of melting ice. "Best part about chemo. Only good part actually. The rest of it is complete shit. Zero out of ten, do not recommend." He punctuated the statement with a long pull from the bottle, long enough to rival one of his mother's epic chug-a-thons. It was like that old saying about an apple's distance from the tree it fell from being tangential to... to... hereditary things.

Sherlock inwardly noted that marijuana had become much stronger since his last dalliances with it in the nineties, perhaps it was time for a new series of experiments he wondered if Molly would be willing to... Oh wait... Sterling had said something about chemo... Right.

"Mummy made us wear pink ribbons when your mum visited." was the first thing that came to his mind and then passed the spliff back to the man beside him. 

"How stoked was Violet? I mean all those years of Mother calling you Nancy and then her greatest frenemy's only son ends up with tit cancer." Sterling shook his head, grinning in amusement before taking a long drag of his own that he held briefly before puffing it out carelessly. 

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh at Sterling's phrasing. "Yes. Your mother certainly loved to speculate on my sexuality. She laid off once she had Agent Gillette to torment. She was always calling him-"

"Miss Gillette. Yeah. She still does. It's almost affectionate at this point." A second drag from the spliff earned him a slight side-eye. "Calm down, Sherlock Hemlock, I don't know how they do things in the UK, but in America it's still puff- _puff_ -pass."

He'd have rolled his eyes at that if they hadn't felt so heavy, half-stoned already from just the one hit. "If anything mummy was angry that Malory was beating her at the sympathy game." Pausing to take another- slower, smoother, he knew what he was in for this time, he added, "Drug addiction just doesn't have as many sympathy points as cancer." Smoke curled around his mouth as he spoke. 

"To be fair, Violet had already gotten shitloads of mileage out of that over the years."

"Til the wheels fell off." He agreed, working on his second puff. 

"Did she really need to mention it so much in her garden club speech? I mean she grew some hyacinths while you were sweating it out in rehab. Not exactly a triumph of the human spirit."

"God, you remember that?" He recalled the exact occasion Sterling referred to and secondhand humiliation washed over him at the thought. "Wait, were you even sober?"

Sterling was in the midst of yet another chain of impressive gulps from the bottle, he halted with a refreshed sigh. "I mean... no? But I remember she made you stand up in front of everyone while she talked about how she 'persevered' through your rehabilitation by growing goddamned flowers. I wasn't sober, but even I could tell she was laying it on thick."

"Typical, isn't it? Of both of them. You should have seen Malory, weeping into this bright pink breast cancer awareness handkerchief. It was a rather impressive performance actually. She even managed to throw herself dramatically over the chez without spilling her drink.”

Sterling gave a half smile, the smoke finding its way back in his hand, “God forbid she let a little thing like grief over her son’s potentially fatal illness make her spill alcohol.”

 

* * *

 

 

Siger must have seen the kerfuffle around the younger men’s exit as an opportunity to slip away unnoticed. Molly would not have been surprised if he was hiding out in a study somewhere with a pipe and a book. He seemed the type. She wondered how this bookish gent had come to partner with such a force of nature.

Lana had recused herself to nurse baby AJ and Molly mumbled out some excuse to join her because sitting across from a woman with her breast out was far, far less uncomfortable than being caught alone between Violet and Malory’s respective crosshairs.

“So… You and Sherlock?”

“Yeah.” Was her response, a breathy tone speaking to the depth and breadth of all that those three words encompassed, then curiosity got the better of her and she added a question of her own. “Earlier, you called him Will? Is that an alias or a callsign or…?”

“Oh. That’s actually his first name, Sherlock is just one of the middle ones, but the one he prefers. Malory hated it, refused to call him by it and everyone else just kind of went along.”

“Wow that’s…”

“Trust me! That hardly scratches the demented surface of the whole Violet-Malory thing.”

“I’m just… This all explains _so much_ …”

“Yup.” Lana agreed.

“The emotional distance-“

“Yup.”

“The narcissism.”

“Yup!”

  
“The lack of impulse control, the risky behavior, the substance abuse-“

“Yuuup!”

“It’s just so…”

“Freudian?”

“YES! Oh my God…!” Sherlock’s behavior in the car ride over made much more sense, suddenly. He’d been unusually handsy, excitement charged through him, bright and electric as he greeted her with wet kisses before she could clip into her seatbelt.

He expressed appreciation at her chosen attire, a short red a-line dress with the peter pan collar peaking above her navy jumper. She had plaited her hair to the side but it became loose from his constant toying with it with his free hand as he drove.

When she took it down to rearrange it, Sherlock wasted no time shoving his entire hand in the freed tresses and stroking his fingertips along her scalp as he combed through her locks.

Naturally, letting Sherlock play with her hair turned into letting Sherlock play with her tits, and the next thing she knew she was giving him road head while he drove to his mother’s house as if nothing was happening.

Thank God for window tint because he didn’t finish until he’d pulled into the drive. Not that his parents would have been checking for them, apparently they’d been forgotten entirely.

And that was a whole metaphor all on its own.

“All this?” Lana gestured around them with one hand “This is a package deal, this comes along with everything else. The adventure, the spontaneity, the crazy sex -all of it comes with a big, fat, chicken fried side order of mommy issues.”

“So you and Sherlock…?” Molly made a vague gesture, she wasn’t entirely sure what she was asking, she only knew Lana Kane was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen in real life and Sherlock had been one of the most beautiful men. It wasn’t an entirely outrageous conclusion that they might have… fraternized.

“What? No… well like once we made out and there may have been some dry humping but, you know, we were in our twenties, and at the particular moment we legitimately thought we were about to die. Seriously though, why do you ask?”

“You said ‘crazy sex’ so…” Molly bit her lip and looked away, cheeks reddening.

“HA!” Her startled single laugh nearly woke her daughter who had begun to doze at her breast, “No. Mother issues always equals crazy in bed. They fuck like they’ve got something to prove. So he is? He’s crazy in bed? Oh my God I KNEW it! Ray owes me so much money.” Lana grinned wide, reaching for her mobile.

Molly covered her mouth as if she could stuff the unintended revelation back in, blushing hot while Lana used her free hand to send a text.

“Don’t you dare get shy on me. I still have soooo many more questions.” She demanded, never looking up from her phone.

 

* * *

 

 

The two men were no longer perched atop the rock, but rather slumped against it, sitting side by side on the ground. The spliff had gone out minutes before, but neither felt inclined to re-light it.

“So she told me to say it first. She told me to say it like I meant it… and I did.” Sherlock stared at the grass as he spoke, absently ripping some from the ground as he recounted the events at Sherrinford.

“Whoa… that’s fucked up.”

“Yeah…”

“Because even if you meant it, you said it with a literal gun- or whatever, bomb to your head; so it doesn’t count.”

“What? Why doesn’t it count?”

“Trust me. It doesn’t count. Not to her. It’s like anything you say when you’re high or having an orgasm, it doesn’t matter how much you mean it if the context is all wrong.”

“Fuck!” He swore, realizing the glaring truth in Sterling’s statement.

“Oh my God, have you not said it again since your not-dead baby sister’s nuthouse murder-party?”

Sherlock didn’t have to answer, his eyes betrayed him.

“Jesus man.”

“Fuck! I’m blowing this.”

“Ha! Phrasing! Wait, do you guys do ‘phrasing’ here?

Sherlock ignored Archer’s aside, too stoned and emotionally raw to do anything but think about the final problem, the Molly problem. It was a thing he’d thought he was on course to correct.

It had, in point of fact, been the entire reason for the visit. Meeting the parents was the first serious step in a series of steps toward… something. He wasn’t quite sure what, but whatever it was, he wanted to take those steps with Molly.

He leaned his head back until it thumped against the rock behind them. “What do I do?”

“Uhh… I don’t know. Tell her again under non-horror movie circumstances.  Probably sometime after this kush wears off because buddy…” slapping him on the shoulder and croacking out a laugh “…you are stoney baloney.”

Sherlock swiveled his head to meet Sterling’s eyeline, but the time it took him and the redness of his eyes only served to illustrate his point further. He abandoned any attempt at a rebuttal and instead smiled easily.

“Thanks for that, by the way. That probably kept me from doing something… incredibly ill advised.” His earnest confession came with a breathy laugh on its heels.

“Anytime.” Sterling replied with a light cuff to his shoulder.

“I did mean it, you know. The ehm… thing I said… to Molly.”

“I know, buddy.”

“And I have told her again since Sherrinford but ehm… not outside the other contexts you mentioned didn’t count.”

Sterling sighed shaking his head. He swore, “God damn” before chuckling airily. “This is exactly like talking to myself, or that robot of me Krieger has in the basement.”

Suddenly Archer was staring at him suspiciously, “Sherlock… what is love?”

Sherlock furrowed his brows in confusion, “That’s what I’ve been forced to ask myself these last few months. There was a time I would have said I knew. That love was nothing more than a series of dangerous chemical reactions- an evolutionary misstep we’d grown beyond the need for. But so many things have challenged that notion lately and I find myself contemplating the idea that I’ve always been wrong. That… love can be a truly enriching part of the human experience.”

Sterling’s laughter interrupted his verbal reflection.

“Okay. Calm down, Haddaway. I was just making sure you weren’t one of the Krieger bots. That question usually makes their brains explode.”

Cocking his head to the side with a questioning expression, Sherlock shrugged in seeming confusion at Sterling’s statement.

“Krieger’s moved on from clones to…strikingly lifelike robots.” He explained with a shudder.

Still confused, Sherlock pressed “Haddaway?”

“Are you serious? Haddaway! ‘What is Love’ – the dance house track that practically defined 1993!... Saturday Night Live?... ‘Night at the Roxbury’?” Sterling bobbed his head rhythmically as if that was meant to provide a clue.

“I don’t waste mental energy on useless pop culture trivia.” He responded dismissively.

“First of all, it’s called engaging with the zeitgeist, idiot. And secondly… of course you meant what you said to what’s-her-face, because you brought her to meet your parents. No one wants to meet anyone else’s parents, and everyone knows that. The only reason someone would ask, and the only reason someone would agree to do it, is because they’re-guess what? In love.”

“Or secretly drugging everyone” Sherlock murmured in addition.

“What was that?”

“Hmm?” he evaded.

“Anyway since literally no one here has actually said it yet, congratulations. I’m… happy for you.” Sterling offered his hand to shake. It was a meaningful gesture coming from the other half of a bitter rivalry which had somehow been nearly all bitterness and no rivalry.

“And to you” Sherlock returned his handshake. “You’re a…father now.”

“It’s crazy right? Like, you don’t even know the half of it. It’s corny maybe, but she’s kind of my whole world. And oh my God! How lucky am I that the only bastard I have is with Lana?” The man laughed, reaching for the bottle once again.

“And the…eh… drinking?” he failed to inquire delicately.

“Under control.” Sterling insisted, affront in his voice but then glanced down at the nearly-empty bottle in his hand and revised.

“Today is a cheat day.” His statement punctuated by a loud belch.

He said nothing save for the dubious glance cast in Sterling’s direction.

“I could ask you the same question, Junkie McSmackhead, but I didn’t because I thought we were having a nice moment and mentioning your unsteady recovery might, I don’t know, bring the mood down.”

“You know about that?”

“Are you kidding?  Violet called the same day she found out. For people who keep secrets on a professional level they gossip kind of a lot.”

“I’m not judging, I’m not in any position to. I’m just curious how you make it… work?”

“With Lana, AJ or booze?”

“All of it?”

“Man, that’s a heavy question. I don’t even know that I am making it work. I’m doing what I can, fully aware that I will disappoint them sometimes.”

“The stakes seem rather high…”

Archer leveled him with a knowing stare, “Do you know any other way to play it?”

That question was rhetorical. No. Of course he didn’t. He and Sterling were cut from the same obscure cloth. Their experiences were certainly not universal and having someone to purely relate to was something of a relief.

They lapsed into amicable silence while Sherlock hunted for the lighter to restart the forgotten spliff.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Lana wasn’t lying about having more questions, it was clear she had thought about it for a long time. Nothing as crass as ‘how big is it?’ but she had mentioned something earlier about an early-twenties dry hump. She may have already gotten the gist.

Truthfully, Molly didn’t have that many answers for her. That aspect of their relationship was still somewhat new.

After AJ had gone off to sleep, nestled in a cot on the floor of the Holmes family sitting room, Molly intimated her lack of answers to an only slightly disappointed Lana,

She shrugged and drew a gun from one of the holsters under her arms, offering it to Molly. “Ever used one of these?”

She shook her head, prompting Lana to smile, “Want to?”

That’s how Molly found herself outside with Lana Kane pressed against her back as she adjusted her stance to fire at a paper target tacked to a tree several metres away.

Her first few shots hit the bark of the tree around the target but after a few minor adjustments she made the next few in the seven and eight rings.

“Nice!” Lana complimented, “Remember to concentrate on your breathing, think of the bullet as an extension of your arm and just send it where you want it to go.”

Molly’s excitement grew. With each attempt, she aimed closer to the center ring. She dug her heels in, adjusting her stance, rolling her shoulders a bit before focusing down the barrel of the pistol aiming toward the center of the target.

With an exhale she squeezed out three rounds each hitting inside the bullseye, dropping the gun as a whoop of excitement escaped her in her self-congratulation. Lana joined her, laughing and patting her on the back.

Seconds later she hears a distant voice shouting “MAAAAAWWWWLLLLLYYYY!” and the sound of rapid footsteps closing in toward her. The two women looked at one another in confusion before a blur of dark wool rushed into view, grasping onto Molly with a death grip.

Sherlock was breathless and wild-eyed, grasping her arms and checking her over. “A-are you hurt?... Do you need an ambulance?”

It was the quickest and roughest examination she’d ever had, shaking off his grasp she placed her hands on his chest to steady him, but he took that as an invitation to check her pupils.

“I’m fine, Sherlock.” She assured, batting his hands away.

He exhaled loudly in relief, pulling her to his chest, pressing her against him with both hands.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Lana asked, picking the gun up from the ground and replacing it in her holster.

“I-I heard gun shots.” Sherlock was still out of breath and how tightly he had Molly clamped against him wasn’t helping. “Molly screamed.”

“I was shooting, Lana was teaching me-mmfff” He cut her off with his lips on hers, and she melted into him immediately, throwing her arms around his neck and opening under his probing tongue.

Lana looked on in disbelief before her eyes lit up with an idea and she raised her phone to snap a picture just to rub it in Ray’s smug little face. But after the first few (to make sure she got a good one) it became a bit awkward standing there with them noisily kissing.

They broke apart a full minute after it would have been a good idea to, he still didn’t let her get far, pressing his forehead to hers, dropping a kiss to her crown and confessing quietly, “I love you.”

“Still doesn’t count.” Archer announced, appearing from the trees to stand beside Lana, he’d evidently taken a more leisurely pace toward the scene of the suspected crime than his comrade.

“Shut up, Sterling.”

“Sherlock? Why do you smell like a Grateful Dead green room?”

“About that…” He ventured to explain.

He didn’t have to, she looked past him toward Archer asking, “Is there more?”

Sterling reached into his pocket with a wicked smile and produced a second spliff. They gathered to partake, circling a mossy log.

It struck Molly as oddly sophomoric, like something out of an American High School drama. She half expected one of them to angstily remark how they couldn’t wait to graduate.

But they inhaled and passed, chatting amicably as the sun lulled on the horizon. For a moment they let themselves forget the two battleaxes that had been circling each other unsupervised since their escape.

Eventually the spliff was smoked down to the end and each of them felt sufficiently buffered to face the older women inside as arm and arm they walked toward the home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it, next chapter is the long overdue confrontation with their mothers. Let me know how you think that will go.
> 
> Today is Benedict's birthday! Happy birthday to Benedict!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malory and Violet confront their own shortcomings as parents. But... you know... baby steps.

 

The elder ladies had been rather deep in their respective cups –pretty much from the moment Malory arrived (so basically since the day before) and Violet began to feel it taking its toll. She’d been decades out from the hard living that went hand in hand with tradecraft.

Although Malory rarely did field work anymore she’d never dropped the habit of drinking like some heretofore unknown chaos would be unravelling imminently; the sort of sordid mess one would not wish to be sober for.  

“Did you hear that?” Violet answered lieu of accepting another top-off from Malory, really she needed to slow down and have some coffee. Siger had bought himself a copper monstrosity of an espresso machine during their last holiday in Tuscany, perhaps she could entice her friend into a cup… or three. “Gun shots.” She announced, a finger raised in the air.

This observation earned a drunken ‘pfffttt!’ and a lazy eyeroll from her compatriot. “God only knows what they’re up to. I almost miss the days when my greatest fear was finding them playing ‘leap frog’.” Malory rubbed her temples meditatively. “Now they’re off having babies, and getting engaged. It’s ridiculous.”

“You think they’re getting engaged?” The comment took Violet somewhat aback, either one of her sons bringing home someone, anyone, they confessed to care for intimately was entirely unprecedented. The concept of that being the new permanent state of things was… an adjustment to say the least.

“Jesus Christ, Violet. Wipe the Oedipus complex out of your eyes for two seconds.”

Well. Violet could hardly stand for that could she? “Oh ho! That is RICH coming from you!”

“I am quite sure I don’t know what you mean.” She sipped to surreptitiously conceal her eyes.

“Really?” Violet asked, leveling her friend with a serious gaze before adding “He answers your calls during sex, Malory.”

 “Oh shut up, have you forgotten about the gunshots or do you just not care that our sons…”

 

***

“-Should be lying dead in ditches by now!” Molly giggled out after losing track of the number of ways Sherlock could have bit it while regaling her with the tales of his misspent youth in black ops- this time with a chorus of corroborating (and sometimes dissenting) voices, laughing and talking over each other as they passed the spliff around.

Some people spend their early twenties getting sunburned in Daytona. The greatest daily threat they face is from alcohol poisoning and walking into traffic while texting. Sherlock, Lana and Archer spent theirs dodging bullets in Caracas.

“You almost did die in a literal ditch once… Jesus where were we? Pakistan?”

Instantly, Sherlock straightened from his position leaned against her, loosening his arm from around her waist but not removing it. His eyes opened owlishly wide in Archer’s general direction, and his head shook nearly imperceptibly. If he was trying to send a signal, Archer was completely missing it.

“Yes! You missed the extraction point and we tracked you back to a brothel in Karachi and you were there with that hooker-“

“Dominatrix. And she was a client.” Sherlock rushed to explain, almost too quickly, he took a brief breath to launch into further exposition but was cut off by a snorting guffaw of derision from both former companions.

“Okay, A: From where I was standing, it looked like you were the client. But, more importantly, B: when they leave you tied to the bed and fuck off with your clothes and passport, they’re just called hookers, Sherlock!”

“Molly, this was ages ago. We’d barely made it out with our lives and…” She was beginning to sense a pattern with these explanations of Sherlock’s erratic behavior.

Once again, Molly was spared another tirade of unnecessary exposition by a gasp from Sterling who, after giving the top of his own thigh a hearty slap, pointed accusingly in Sherlock’s direction. “Aur Kya! Bakri chowd sewer-jinn!”

Together, Lana and Sherlock created the perfect balance of bewildered and offended respectively, while Molly herself felt a trickle of fear mix in with the usual confusion.

“My Urdu is a little rusty but I think he just called him a goat… fucker?” Lana attempted to translate for Molly’s benefit, for all the good it did.

“Goat fucking pig demon” The alleged pig-demon elaborated.

“You yelled that when I knocked! That’s where I learned it!” The man broke down into convulsions of laughter for a moment that stretched into an especially awkward interval wherein the three who remained in the dark, glanced at one another in confounded equanimity.

When he finally stopped to breathe, he paused and spoke through his laughter “Th-the only phrase I know in Urdu… ” He gasped softly and wiped a tear from his eye, “Is the thing you yelled at me when I walked in on you with a hooker!” As soon as the words left his mouth, he returned to his ridiculous cry-laughing.

“Dominatrix.” Lana corrected.

“Thank you.” Sherlock added.

“I’m not defending you, Kinky Boots. I’m editorializing, what she’d been doing to you is definitely not in the average call girl’s repertoire.” Lana quipped, leaving Molly behind to gape at Sherlock, who’d gone completely red and seemed to be trying to shrink into his bangs.

 “And haven’t you been to Pakistan like… a bunch of times since then?” Lana asked, now casting her judgmental glance in Sterling’s direction.

“Yeah like a dozen.” He confirmed, all too arrogantly.

“And in all that time you never thought to pick up any more Urdu than that?”

“Honestly, it’s all I’ve ever needed. So, thanks buddy.” Sterling volleyed briefly in Sherlock’s direction.

Sherlock swore and shook his head, head cast downward, still not trying to lock eyes with Molly’s.   

“Yeah, I am NOT popular there!” Archer rasped, lapsing back into laughter.

 

 

“It’s been a quarter of hour, for goodness sake, relax Malory!” Initially she had thought her concern for their son’s safety an act to avoid more damning conversation, but as time passed, the woman only grew more antsy. “They’re professionals, I’m sure they’re fine…”

As the words left her mouth, a very vivid memory of their two sons and the landmine they’d found in an abandoned field sprang to the fore. Miraculously, they’d somehow managed to drag the horrid thing into Siger’s shed without killing themselves. She never forgot the betrayed look he gave her as the bomb disposal unit carried it away.

“Maybe we’ll just take a peek at the security feed, eh?” She reached for a remote that was hidden somewhere in the nest of plush cushions that covered the sofa, and pressed a button that prompted the bookshelves to separate and reveal several monitors displaying a video stream of various points throughout the perimeter of the home.

“See! They’re fine!” Violet assured. “They’re just talking and… smoking?!” Relief was replaced by fury as she witnessed her son smiling and blowing out a cloud of smoke with his arm looped around that tiny woman, who by the way, was NOT discouraging him, much to Violet’s personal outrage.

“Oh it’s just a little reefer!” Malory dismissed, “What’s the harm? It keeps them away from the cobra whiskey and black tar. Where’s AJ?” Clearly more concerned with the safety of her infant granddaughter than her miscreant son, Malory scanned the screen for the baby’s location.

“There.” Violet pointed, “Sig has her in the study.”

Violet puzzled at Malory’s expression of relief. Her oldest friend’s skillset was a long and intimidating list, but in all the time they’d known each other maternal instinct had not been one of them.

“What?” Malory’s silvery bob waved against her jaw as she turned to Violet, who had been caught staring.

“You’re really doing this? Grandmothering?” Perhaps the disbelief in Violet’s voice was a bit too strong, Malory actually seemed… hurt.

Spine straightened in her classic Chanel suit, Malory took a swift, fortifying drink before setting her glass down steadily, contemplatively.

“Oh Malory I didn’t mean it li-“

“Don’t you think I know what everyone thinks about me? I did my best with Sterling, but it was just me alone with nothing but Woodhouse and the few million dollars in bearer bonds I managed to smuggle out of Tunis in a hollowed-out candelabra.” She paused for a breath and another steeling sip. “…And also that priceless candelabra.”

Once again fortified, she continued, “I built that agency from the ground up, thwarted countless coups and assassinations, created a vast network of agents and informants- And yet all I hear about are the parent-teacher conferences and lacrosse matches I missed, or the Christmas Eves I’d accidentally left him stranded at the train station…”

“Eves? Plural?!” Violet interrupted but Malory ignored her and pressed on.

“And, yes! Once, in a fog of antihistamines and absinthe, I did put a burn notice out on him by mistake. It’s not like children come with a manual!”

Had she been wearing them, Violet’s pearls would have been well and truly clutched.

“But I do… Love… my son.” Malory stumbled over the admission like it was a poorly kept secret. “And I think, with Lana’s help- a LOT of Lana’s help, they can do a better job with AJ than I did with Sterling. They already are. I just need him to keep it together, as long as he’s in the picture, I will get to have my granddaughter. But if they split up, or either of them dies, she will be sent off to the Kanes.” She didn’t have to elaborate that such an outcome meant her contact with the girl would be severely limited.

“Resentment toward me has always been something they could bond over. I can take them hating me a little if it means they stay together for AJ.” Sighing, she took another sip of her drink, this time more as a bookend on her statement than anything else. Violet reached a hand over to offer her friend an empathetic shoulder squeeze.

“That’s so sweet Malory… that you think they only hate you a little.” A beat passed and the two cackled together in unison.

 As the moment bled away into somber silence, Violet carefully added, “But you have to ease up on the weight topic.”

“Oh, not this again…”

“Don’t make the same mistake I made with Mycroft. Now he’s constantly droning on about macros and Glycemic Index. It’s insufferable.”

Who was either of them to judge the other? Mycroft was the best approximation of a functional adult she could produce and he was a personal mess. The man was, for all intents and purposes, the entirety of the British government and lacked the confidence to attend state functions that call for public dining without the assistance of Scotch and Xanax.

“At least you only fucked up one child. I ruined all three…” The realization prying its way from her lips at the exact moment it arose.

Malory scoffed and moved to refresh Violet’s abandoned drink. “Oh please, you don’t have time to worry about that! You’ll be in my shoes before too long.”

The prediction of her own impending grandmotherhood startled her into choking on the drink she’d only recently decided she could stand one more of. “P-pardon?”

Rolling her eyes, she leveled a glance that exposed the vast void that was Malory’s patience with obtuse questions. “Do you know how many field extractions I’ve had to, personally, call in for him? He’s a clever boy, Violet, I’ve always said so. But if there’s one thing he doesn’t know, it’s when to pull out.”

 

 

 

 

Being stoned didn’t make him slow, per se’, it made him streamlined. Rather than a computer with hundreds of open tabs, his thoughts felt like a river carving into deltas but flowing in a singular direction. Presently, that direction was Molly and the tension between them since… well since the moment they got out of the car.

He’d become rather concerned that she’d gotten the impression that this visit to his parents’ home was a tasting menu of things to come, were she to continue being attached to him romantically. He was also concerned with the fact that it would not be an altogether incorrect impression for her to have.

She took his hand when he offered it to escort her back up the path to his family home and smiled her usual gamely smile when they shared glances. He couldn’t help but sense something was off in her body language. Archer’s wild recounting of his misadventures in Karachi certainly hadn’t helped.

His focus was lost somewhat, however, upon entering his parents’ foyer and could smell fresh biscuits and coffee. It was rather close to tea time and, yes again, he was quite stoned. Molly and the others seemed to follow his train of thought because they cautiously entered the kitchen where the Eldest Mr. Holmes had a light spread of coffee, sandwiches and biscuits laid out on the dining table.

Sherlock froze when he saw his mother and Malory sat side by side, already nursing their own cups of strong coffee. Abbiejean smiled a sweet gummy grin at her approaching parents, offering her half-chewed biscuit to her father from the confines of her high chair.

Sterling and Lana settled in on either side of their daughter. Lana cleaned crumbs from the girl’s face as Archer gently parried her attempts to feed him her pre-masticated nosh. He chuckled softly. “No, thanks AJ… I uh… I want you to have it.” She refused to take that for an answer, cramming it against his not quite fully close mouth.

Sherlock smiled in spite of himself, remembering to pull Molly’s chair for her, the two of them taking no time to get their own fortifications.

“So…” His mother began, cradling her head in one palm as she spoke, no doubt she had a monstrous headache (served her right, honestly) while Malory remained largely unruffled. “I understand I may not have been as… supportive as I should have been.  But, in my defense, I never thought I’d be in this position. Ever! I mean never ever, in a hundred million years would I have thought for even a second…”

“We get the picture, mummy.” He sighed. The hand Molly had rested on his knee beneath the table, gave him a comforting squeeze.

“I don’t know, I could stand for her to be a little more descriptive. Violet, tell us more about how unlovable your son is.” Everyone but the infant had had about enough of Sterling’s repartee, rolling their collective eyes in his direction.

Ignoring him, mummy struggled through her headache and admission of wrongdoing. Sherlock was legitimately curious to see if she could actually follow this line of thinking all the way through to an actual apology for once in her life.

“Anyway, I’ve taken time to process and I just want to say…I suppose…” A bit of a false start there but, to her credit, she rallied and started again, “Well, what I guess I want to say is that, Sincerely… From the bottom of my heart, I’m…”

Oh my God, this was actually it! The apology he’d been waiting for his entire life was finally happening! He knew this one apology would not cover the multitude of parental sins they’d put this family through but it was an important first step. Monumental even.

“I’m happy for you.”

Cue trombone slide. He had no words. None. That was her stunning admission? That she felt normal motherly feelings about her human child reaching a completely average milestone in his adult life?

Across the table from him Lana sat upright, barely containing the sympathetic cringe in her expression.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His father announced as if that was all it took for them to be a perfectly whole and functional family again (or at all). Always the peacemaker, even if that peace was fleeting, pointless and came at the cost of everything else.

There was a smattering of uncomfortable laughs, as if the notion of there ever being conflict in the first place was the joke, and not the multiple generations of fuckery converging in this one room.

That was pretty much business as usual where this “family” was concerned; Half the room pretending not to be drunk, the other half pretending not to be high and his father standing in the middle without a clue in the world.

And where was Mycroft during this heartwarming familial summit? He was off weaving a hideous Machiavellian tapestry with some other people’s dysfunction, no doubt.

“Is that all?” Molly’s delayed reaction interrupted both, Sherlock’s train of thought and whatever banal conversation had overtaken the table. She was stoned, emboldened and looked like she was spoiling for a fight. “That’s really all you had to say?”

“I beg your pardon?” Mummy inquired, all too politely. Fixing a false smile across her face and aiming it in Molly’s direction like a cannon.

“After everything that’s happened, ‘I’m happy for you’ is the best you could do? With all due respect, Mrs. Holmes, that’s shit!” Somehow, even in her tiny voice she managed to sound assertive, authoritative. Deservedly so, when it came to handling issues with emotional maturity, Molly exponentially outpaced everyone in this room (save perhaps Lana).

Malory sipped from her cup to hide the smile that gave away just how utterly she was failing at pretending not to love this whole mess. All Sterling and Lana were missing was a giant bucket of popcorn based on how attentive they’d suddenly become of the spectacle.

“Jesus Christ! No wonder this man won’t open up to me emotionally unless there’s a doomsday clock or weapons grade narcotics!”

“Or weapons grade pussy! Amiright, Sherlock?!” Archer said, laughing that manic rasping laugh before quieting and adding with an amusedly apologetic cough, “or was that something you told me in confidence?”

Well this was mortifying.

Molly stopped addressing the room to turn to him. “Sherlock, you love me?” She was telling him more than asking him but she seemed to want a response so he nodded dumbly.

“Anything else you wanted to announce while we’re here? Do you want to move in with me? Maybe one day get married? Have babies?” Her line of questioning was rapid-fire and to the point.

Again, he found himself unable to respond with anything but a stilted nod. It seemed to be enough because his mother’s hand slapped over her gaping mouth and his father’s eyes widened enough for them to escape from their sockets.

“Great!” She exclaimed, “So in summary: He loves me. I love him. Domestic partnership and future offspring are on the docket. And ehm… yeah… I think we’re done here. Sherlock? Shall we?” She stood before him like a heroine, offering her hand. He took it gratefully, allowing her to guide him to standing.

“Dad, mummy…” he began but honestly, he was at a loss for words.

“Just say goodbye, babes.” His darling Molly advised.

“Yes. Right. Goodbye everyone. It’s been…” He took a final glance around the room at all of them. “Yeah…” He decided to let that sentence dangle as Molly was pulling him toward the door.

 

***

 

Well… She hadn’t expected to handle the situation quite like that. But at some point during the nostalgia tour of emotional abuse that was this visit, she determined she would speak up to Violet, at some point.

She’d envisioned maybe asking to speak with her in private or… or maybe waiting a few days and calling her.  Or you know, a thank you card a week from now with a passive-aggressive undertone.

But when it became clear the pieces were in place to perform another mass gaslighting on Sherlock, Molly became determined to disrupt it, even if she was unable to completely stop it.

She couldn’t “fix” his family any more than she could raise her own from the dead but she could draw a line and say ‘Not today.’ In this case, all that really amounted to was a blunt observation and a quick exit.

He said absolutely nothing as they walked toward the car, although the tremor in his hand since she first spoke steadied the further away from the house they walked. He did take a moment to open the car door for her before settling into the driver’s seat.

She moved to buckle and noticed Sherlock staring at her, she paused to meet his gaze, moments like these it was just best to be patient and let him get to the speaking part on his own time. He usually figured it out when his thoughts were piling up and words get pushed down the pecking order of higher brain functions.

“I’m not that high.” He finally said after a silent moment. “The coffee was… very strong. My God! Did it come out of an espresso machine or a still? It felt like I should have been drinking it from a jug with three x’s on the label.”

“It’s fine. Just drive slow.” She replied, unconcerned. Even without the coffee, his parents had been enough of a buzzkill on their own.

“No, I mean… I want to tell you that I love you and for you to know I’m saying it because I feel it,              and not because I’m under the influence of-“

“Oh, I know!” She responded emphatically; perhaps too emphatically, given his reaction. “After today I… yeah… I get the picture.”

“I’m sorry it was so…”

“Weird? Uncomfortable? Embarassing?” She supplied helpfully, smiling to remind him she was being playful and not accusatory.

“All of the above.” He sighed.

Leaning over the center console, she pressed a kiss high on his cheekbone. “I love you too, Sherlock Holmes. Now take me home and make it up to me. Surely there will be a sober period between the weed we smoked earlier and the sex we’re having later for you to say it again.”

Beaming with a goofy grin, he ducked his head to kiss her with more intention but as their lips brushed Molly whispered, “And don’t think you’ve gotten out of talking about Karachi.”

He sighed like all the air had gone out of him but accepted a conciliatory peck on the lips as he joined her in buckling in and starting their journey back to London.

 

***

 

In the Holmes family dining room, three adults sat looking expectantly at Lana Kane and Sterling Archer, who remained entirely agog at what had just occurred.

“What have you found on the target, Agent Kane?”, Violet asks, all business in spite of the stupid look on the face of the man across from her.

“Well, basic reconnaissance showed an obvious ability to remain calm in stressful situations, adaptive, intelligent, took easily to basic marksmanship, and… well, clearly she can enforce boundaries. Honestly, she’s kind of amazing... for a civilian.” Lana’s thoughtful answer was a ridiculous juxtaposition beside the man who continued to stammer with his mouth hanging wide open.

“Archer!” She snapped, no longer able to ignore his antics. “Do you have something to say?” She asked in resignation. The path of least resistance was to let him speak his mind so they could move on.

“You can do that? You can just choose not to engage in conflict?” He asked, remarking upon Molly’s polite, yet forceful removal of herself and Sherlock from the situation minutes earlier.

“Apparently…” Lana sighed, head in her hand.

Lost as ever and grasping for understanding Sterling asked. “But…How!?”

A deafening silence fell over the table, only the sound of AJ’s cooing remained as they cast questioning glances at one another.

Siger broke it with an uncharacteristic observation, “Son…” He answered sagely, “If any one of us knew that, we wouldn’t be here.”

 

**Fade to  Black** **Roll Theme Song**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter! Thank you all who stuck with me on this ridiculous ride! Your kudos and comments have really helped me see this through and I can't thank you enough for your support. Special shout out of course to Sunken_Standard who was always on-hand for notes and concrit. 
> 
> I'd really love to see other authors contribute to this crossover, so if you're inspired HMU! I'll totally beta for you!

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway I hoped you liked it! Also today is my birthday so now you have to say you like it no matter what.


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